


Delicate

by pressedinthepages



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, F/M, Smut, kind of, softe witcher times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: Each of the three Witchers need something different, and you are more than happy to provide.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Lambert (The Witcher)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 141





	Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> Reader Request [So I had this idea for a drabble: aftercare with the witchers boys. I think Eskel would be so soft 😭] i am so sorry this took so freakin long it has been a MOMENT.

_ Geralt  _

__ Geralt has taken you apart and pieced you back together over the course of the night with a vigor that could rival the diligence of the sun in its quest to drench the earth in light. Now, as he finally softens within you, his hands relax from where they had previously been digging into the meat of your hips. He is slotted up behind you, his breath still coming in warm gasps against the back of your neck.

You shift to get up and clean yourself, but Geralt only wraps his arm more firmly around your waist, holding you tight to him. You exhale a short whine as his length slips from the snug velvet of your core, already missing the exorbitant fullness that he offers. 

“Geralt?” you murmur, tracing your finger lightly up his forearm, watching the muscles jump and twitch under his skin. “Please love, I’m gonna be all sticky in the morning.”

Geralt hums, pressing his lips against your shoulder. “Can’t have that, can we?”

He unwinds his arm from around you, leaving an unyielding void of warmth when he pushes himself off of the bed. You watch as a few candles suddenly flicker with life as Geralt passes by them, marveling at how the light dances down his back and over his hips. 

As if sensing your eyes on him Geralt turns around, catching your gaze with a crook of his brow. Not a single word spills from his lips, but you have learned how to read the detailed language of his expressions, no matter how minute. 

“Just admiring the view, darling.” Geralt smirks just the teeniest bit, turning back to his task. He pulls a clean cloth from a drawer and dips it in the jug of water that you keep on the dresser. Geralt returns to your side, kneeling on the bed as he reverently runs the rag over your skin. You run your own hand up the length of his thigh, brushing past the nasty scar on the inside of his leg. You relish these moments when you can feel him under your skin, even your bones sighing into the relief that having him here brings.

The rag is draped over the back of a chair to dry and Geralt not-necessarily gracefully flops onto the bed on his stomach. You chuckle, sidling up to him and running your fingers up his spine. Your nails scratch lightly up the base of his skull, threading into his hair. The two of you lay in silence for who knows how long as you carefully undo the tangles in the shiny silver threads atop his head. 

“What is on your mind, little magpie?” Geralt’s voice is husky and low with exhaustion, his eyes still closed and his face the picture of relaxation. 

You take a deep breath, only allowing a moment to collect your thoughts. “Will you stay long this time?”

Geralt sighs, shifting only a bit to burrow further into his pillow. “I’m sorry, love. I’ll be leaving as the sun rises, the Path calls.”

You hum, wrapping your arm around his waist. “Come, then, let me linger in this a while longer.”

Geralt turns away from you, pressing his hips back into yours. You fit your nose to sit right at the nape of his neck as your hand reaches up to rest above his heart. Geralt’s own hand joins yours, twining your fingers together as the both of you relax into each other. You can feel the slow, steady beating of his heart with every rise and fall of his breath. 

“I will miss you.” His chest rumbles with the words, clearly only moments away from slipping into sleep.

“And I you, my dear. And I will be here, waiting for your return.”

* * *

_ Lambert  _

__ “Fuck, Lambert,” you gasp, sagging heavily into the pillows around your head, “that was amazing.”

Said Witcher laughs heartily, falling to your side and laying on his back. The muscles of his arm swell as it is thrown over his forehead, his chest heaving with every deep breath he takes. “Hmm, you can say that again swee-what the fuck are you doing?”

You meet his eyes, golden orbs swirling with incredulity as you nestle into his side, lightly scratching your fingers through the dark thatch of hair on his chest. You take his arm and wrap it around your back, resting your head over his heart. “I’m cuddling with you? Is this ok?”

Lambert blinks owlishly, his hand stiff where it sits on your waist. “I-I just never really get this part. Most women can’t wait to get me out of their beds.”

“Well,” you whisper, “it’s a good thing that I am not most women.”

Lambert’s thumb moves hesitantly along the soft skin on your hip, gaining confidence when you nuzzle into him and wrap yourself around him tighter. You can feel him relax into you ever so slowly, not quite sure how to let himself fully give in to your affection. 

“Please, Lambert,” you press your lips against his skin, feeling the course of life tingling just beneath the surface, “allow yourself this.”

Lambert huffs, moving his hand from your waist up to your head, smoothing his fingers through your hair and down your shoulder. Your eyes begin to droop as your focus is pulled to the gentle movements, so different from how he typically carries himself. 

He won’t settle like this, he never does. And when you wake in the morning, Lambert will still be in bed, but he will have rolled onto his side facing away from you with a veritable ocean of space between the two of you. And he will have stolen all of the blankets. 

* * *

_ Eskel _

Eskel’s teeth release from the tender skin of your neck as his cock softens within you, his lips soothing the bite mark. He whispers praises where he lays atop you, crowding you into the bedroll over the forest floor.

You turn your head, catching his lips for a kiss. It is slow, languid, dripping with the sweetness of freshly harvested honey. Your hands rove over Eskel’s form, up his arms and into the soft waves of his hair, down his neck and over the rough skin of the scar on his cheek. You cheekily lick over where the scar notches into his lip, knowing the skin there is extra sensitive. Eskel growls, his hands tightening where they rest on your hips.

He returns to your neck, nosing to the spot right behind your ear and breathing deeply. “ _ Gods,  _ you smell so nice. I could stay here forever,” he hums, his chest rumbling with what could be compared to a purr. 

“While I think that sounds lovely in practice, dear,” you whisper, squeezing his shoulders lightly, “you are squishing me.”

‘Mmm, but I’m terribly comfortable, I can’t even begin to imagine moving…”

“Eskel!” you laugh, pushing half-heartedly against him. It is like gently shoving a mountain, but he relents, rolling over to lay next to you on his side. He pulls you with him, tangling his legs with yours and pressing his lips to the crown of your head. You wrap your arm around his waist and snuggle into his chest, your nose brushing over the cool medallion that hangs around his neck. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight…” Eskel murmurs, trailing his fingers along your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You hum in response, allowing your body to meld into his as you drift lazily on the edge of consciousness.

“The love I have for you burns with a light that not a single one of those stars could dare to rival.” Eskel’s voice is small, a timid thing fighting to breach his lips. You tilt your head up to look deep into those golden eyes that shine even in the blackest night, finding them already gazing down at you. 

“Hmm, fancy yourself a poet now?” You smile, leaning up and pressing your lips to his. Eskel sighs into it, a release of tension that allows him to finally relax into your arms. The two of you move slowly, the flight of petals on a breeze that carries them far and wide. 

“You make me want to write poetry,” Eskel replies, nuzzling you back into his chest with his fingers in your hair. The sound of his heart, a low thud every four seconds, lulls you into a peaceful sleep, surrounded by your poetic Witcher.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @pressedinthepages


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